


Come back home

by Liviapenn



Category: Stargate: Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Chromatic Character, Gen, post-The Hive, post-ep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-08
Updated: 2005-12-08
Packaged: 2017-10-14 10:07:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/148115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liviapenn/pseuds/Liviapenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You said just let go / you said come back home /  I say I've just fallen from grace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come back home

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Bas and Zee for pre-reading.

When Ford steps through the Stargate the meadow is not-quite-dark and for a moment he can’t tell if it’s twilight or almost dawn. Time stretches and snaps jerkily. The gate goes dim. He shakes himself back to alertness and whistles: two short, one long. No response.

He knows what that means, but he heads for the base anyway. It’s abandoned. His men are gone and so’s Dr. McKay. The Wraith in the lower levels have been hacked to bits. Waste of resources. Stupid. He slams a fist into the wall, and it _hurts_. He managed to get a quick hit off a guard back on the hive ship, but all it’s doing at this point is keeping him conscious. He’s used to the stronger stuff, he’s never gone this long without a dose, and the undulled pain is like a cold spike slammed up between his knuckles. He makes himself breathe, kneels and touches the floor. The puddles of black are faded, long dried.

It’s possible that his men are waiting for him, gathered at the alpha site he picked out. _Possible—not probable,_ he hears a sharp voice announce in his head. _Realistically speaking, you’re screwed—I’m screwed—just to be clear, here, for the kids in the back row? Your men are gone—they may be morons but they’re not dumb enough to sit around and wait for the cruisers to come scoop them up—_

He twitches and heads up the steps, towards the labs. The cabinets are empty, the test-tube racks have been cleared out. There’s not a dose left in this whole fucking base—Ford smashes a desk against the wall, and then he forces himself to relax.

His head’s spinning. What next? Look for McKay? He should—he should contact Atlantis. The Colonel still doesn’t know where this place is. He won’t even know where to start looking for McKay. He’s probably—he’s— _I didn’t give up on you. I kept trying, I wouldn’t let them write you off. Now you have to find McKay—_

“Shut up!” Ford kicks the desk he just broke, finding a raw satisfaction in the crack of splintering wood. Everything’s breakable, out here. Clay cups and wooden furniture and blankets that don’t keep you quite warm enough at night. A real place, with real things in it. Not like Atlantis.

You live there, you get distracted. Ford didn’t even realize how bad it was until he got out. Everything shining and humming, teleporters and spaceships—it’s just a lot of distraction. You get all excited about your new branch of quantum astrophysics and you forget what’s really important, what’s happening right on your fucking doorstep.

 _Do you think I have forgotten what is important, Aiden? My duty to my people, and my comrades? In your heart you know what your duty is._

Ford grits his teeth and steps out of the cave, staring into the morning sunlight. Bees squirm like black dots over the fields, swimming in his vision. Sensation comes in patches—the weight of his knapsack slung over his back, the cool press of a knife inside his boot.

 _You know what you have to do._

He raps his knuckles gently against the empty canteen hanging at his waist.

Yeah. Ford knows his duty.

He hikes west along the stream, past the swimming hole and further on into the woods where no one except him ever went. Up over a few hills, a few rocky little waterfalls, and he stops to drink a few times but soon he has to stop. His mouth is dry and he’s hot all over but it’s just the withdrawal. He’ll make himself sick from cold water before he’ll kill this thirst.

Finally he reaches the waist-high waterfall just below the main ridge. He slides his pack off his shoulder and lets it lean against a rock, then wades into the water. His boots keep most of it out, but the few chilly trickles that get in through the treated leather feel pretty damn good.

Under the waterfall there’s a satchel wrapped in oiled animal skin, and he draws it out slowly, feeling the shape of the bottle against his palm. The music of the stream, the rush of water is loud in his ears. The flap of hide falls away, and the amber liquid gleams like gold. He’s so thirsty. This will help.

It won’t solve everything. It’s not the answer to everything that he used to think it was ( _find McKay, find him, you have to_ ) but he needs it now. He’s too slow, he’s not thinking straight. He has to fix his mistakes. ( _can’t give up now, can’t, he’s your_ ) Has to do his duty.

The sun beats down hot and bright on the back of his neck. His feet are getting wetter. Gently, Ford sets the bottle down on the flat rock. He waits till he’s sure it won’t tip over, and then he opens the flap of his knapsack and pulls out the syringe. His hands move with the ease of habit, measuring out a full dose.

He’s got a man to find. He’ll bring McKay home. The enzyme will help. It will.

Ford bites his lip as the needle slides in.

Then they’ll see.


End file.
